#I wouldn’t trade Manorian for the world

[rufousnmacska]

Only You

A manorian arranged marriage fic from an anon request.

Thank you to @itach-i for beta reading and helping plot this out! ❤️

Previously, in Part One

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PART TWO

*

Manon refused to look in the mirror. Giselle, a Blueblood serving as both sentinel and attendant on this trip, adjusted the drape of her dress then inserted more pins into her hair. She had successfully avoided wearing a dress at Aelin’s coronation, as well as her own. But for this event, she’d finally given in to Glennis’s appeals for formality. She told herself it was due to her grandmother’s surprisingly ruthless demands. But if a dagger were held to her throat, she might admit there was a small part of her that wanted to see Dorian’s expression at the sight of her in a dress. So, they’d packed two. While Manon had initially toyed with the idea of wearing all black to Dorian’s wedding, she knew she’d never go through with it. The black dress would be worn at tonight’s royal banquet while the more modest, light gray frock would be worn at the ceremony.

Glennis was supervising and when Giselle stepped back, they both nodded.

Manon turned away from her reflection. “You act as if the world will live or die upon my appearance tonight.”

Through a combination of luck and will, she’d managed to avoid seeing Dorian this morning when they arrived. When she was shown to her rooms, she hadn’t left them, indulging her cowardice just this once. Unfortunately, there was no way she could get out of tonight’s banquet.

“It just might,” Glennis mumbled.

Manon caught her eye and demanded, “What does that mean?” With a nod, she dismissed Giselle.

“I’ve learned Prince Fennick is here.” Glennis made no effort to hide the accusation in her voice.

“I’m surprised he was able to make the trip. I thought the seas were impassable this time of year.”

“I’ve been told he was very motivated.”

“What else have you been told?” she asked, walking around to pick up her traveling clothes that had been thrown about the room. Manon had kept the contents of Fennick’s letter a secret from Glennis, passing it off as an introduction to a possible trade alliance. On top of everything else, she didn’t want to deal with her grandmother’s nosiness. It had been easy to convince herself that he wouldn’t show up. All a mistake, she realized now, as she would have Glennis’s anger to manage along with the questions.  

“He cornered Giselle and Lara earlier to ask about your attire for tonight. Among other things.”

Manon scowled in confusion, hiding her irritation that he’d approach her witches like that. “What? Why would he want to know that?”

“Why? So he can, and I am quoting him here, ‘dress accordingly.’”

“And what other things?”

“Lara said he was asking about our capitol. If there had been much rebuilding or if it was new construction. And what sort of trade we exported.”

Manon remembered how he’d framed his interest in terms of a mutually beneficial alliance between her kingdom and Doranelle. Those questions at least made sense to her. “We have nothing to hide,” she said dismissively. “Building a kingdom from ancient ruins, nothing to trade except grains and unrefined ore. I still don’t understand about the dress though,” she confessed.

“He wants to match. Apparently he’s decided to court you at the wedding of the man you love. And, apparently, you’re going to let him!” Glennis growled.

And this was why she’d not shown the letter to Glennis. A sudden rage consumed Manon and she hissed back, “Isn’t this what everyone wants? For me to move on and produce an heir for the Witch Kingdom? Why is it that when I consider doing exactly that, I’m made to feel like some sort of traitor? Dorian has accepted his future, grandmother. Shouldn’t I do the same?”

Glennis had no reply, only an immensely sad expression on her face. While she had never pushed Manon about an heir, almost everyone else on the council had, their efforts doubling upon the news that Dorian’s betrothal had left their queen alone.

Alone. She was well and truly alone now, she realized. Dorian was the only person who had known her Thirteen for their true selves. Petrah and the other witches, even Glennis, really only knew the masks her sisters had worn. Dorian had seen them at their most vulnerable, trained and fought with them, laughed with them. The sudden breaking of that connection left her breathless with pain.

And just like that, Manon’s anger disappeared. She fell into a chair and gazed out the window at the darkening sky. She could see the ocean from here, and she knew that Dorian’s rooms were only a few short flights above hers. So close. “Does anyone else know why he is here?”

“I don’t know,” Glennis said. “I believe he’s kept to his rooms for the most part. If he’s fool enough to speak about it in front of his host, then he deserves whatever happens to him.”

Manon huffed a laugh in agreement.

“I hate that this is happening,” Glennis said, her voice miserable. “I hate it!” Manon looked up to see tears in her grandmother’s eyes. “I’m sorry, dear. It’s not fair of me to add to your torment. I know you blame yourself, but you shouldn’t. His awful lords are to blame. Dorian had no choice.” After a long moment, she added, “If you want to move on with a fae prince, I won’t stop you.”

“Of course I don’t want to,” Manon said, fighting against the tears building in her own eyes. “I want to be with Dorian. I want him and no one else to father my witchling, to rule by my side. But that’s not possible. Not anymore. I waited too long to tell him that. That’s why I blame myself. I thought we’d have time, but I was wrong.” She lost the battle with her tears, letting them run down her cheeks.

Glennis rushed over to hug her, murmuring words of consolation that, while unable to change anything, still helped to soothe her. Eventually, Manon pulled away to clean her face.

For the first time in a long time, since those desperate final days of the war, Glennis looked ancient enough to match her age. It was the tears and sadness and regret. It made Manon wonder why her grandmother never spoke of her own mate. Had he been a love match? Or an arrangement that settled into a simple happiness that allowed them to become mates? If the latter, would that be enough for Manon?

With a courage and strength that she didn’t think she had, Manon stood and grasped Glennis’s hand. “Let’s go down. I want to get this over with as quickly as possible.”

***

Dorian’s nerves grew increasingly worse as more guests made their way through the receiving line. He had yet to see Manon. He hadn’t been surprised that she’d sequestered herself in her rooms all day, but that didn’t stop the disappointment from almost overwhelming him. Only Chaol’s insistence that it might cause a scene had kept him from visiting her. Now, the idea of introducing her to Eveline made him want to throw up. He knew he wasn’t making a very good impression on the guests. Luckily, Eveline was a talented conversationalist, taking some of the attention off his own shoulders.

The next person to approach gave Dorian a shock. A fae male stood before them, tall and silver-haired, handsomely dressed in black and gold. He was the spitting image of Rowan, if Rowan had long hair. At the expression on Dorian’s face, the male broke into a laugh.

“Your Majesty. Lady Frey,” he said, bowing gracefully. “I am Prince Fennick Whitethorn. Queen Sellene of Doranelle regrets not being able to attend, but she sends her dearest wishes for a long and happy union.” He then exchanged brief introductions with Chaol and Yrene, who shared in Dorian’s surprise at the resemblance.

“Thank you, your highness,” Dorian said. “We are close friends with your cousin Rowan. Sadly, he and Aelin were unable to attend.”

“Ah, that is sad. I haven’t seen him in years and had hoped to catch up.”

“How was your voyage here?” Eveline asked. “I'm relieved that you avoided the winter storms.”

“The sea travel was harrowing in spots. But nothing to prevent me from daring the journey.” At Eveline’s quizzical look, he grinned a bit sheepishly. “I grew up listening to my grandmother spin tales of fae meeting their mates at weddings. I’m afraid I’m a romantic at heart and when Sellene asked me to represent Doranelle, I could not pass up the opportunity.”

Eveline laughed. “Well, perhaps you will find them tonight. Though, I don’t think there are any other fae present.”

Not acknowledging the encroachment of a noble couple wishing he would move along, Fennick said, “Lucky for me, Lady, the fae mating bond has been known to happen with humans. I believe your king’s ancestors were such a pair, yes?” Before Dorian could reply, Fennick continued. “It is rare, but it happens. I’ve even heard tell of fae sharing mate bonds with witches.”

Maintaining a pleasant air, she said, “Ah, is that so? I’m afraid I’m rather ignorant on those matters.” With an eye to the rest of the line, she said, “Please enjoy yourself this evening.”

“Thank you,” he said with another quick bow. “I intend to.”

Dorian had stiffened, his fists clenched so tightly his skin was white at the knuckles. He gave the prince a dismissive nod, then watched as he mingled with the crowd that had formed at the entrance to the ballroom. He very clearly overheard Fennick ask someone if the Witch Queen had made her appearance yet. Yrene heard too, and Chaol had to grab her arm to keep her from going after the male.

The next guests passed by in a haze. Dorian smiled prettily and welcomed them. He could think of nothing but the arrogant fae male in search of a mate and was wondering if Fennick had been trying to goad him into some sort of confrontation. When a hand pinched his arm, he looked over to see Chaol, wearing a wild-eyed expression that screamed for him to focus.

He spun back around to find Manon standing before him.

Unable to stop himself, he just stared at her. It had been months since they’d last seen each other, let alone spoken. While Dorian had seen her in flying leathers and other basic clothes, had seen her in every state of undress, he’d never seen her wearing a dress. Until this moment, he’d thought she’d never looked more beautiful than when she’d had on one of his night shirts. How wrong he was.

The black dress hugged her body, flaring out at the hem and pooling on the floor. The low neckline would have been scandalous if not for the jewel-encrusted golden collar that wrapped around her neck and extended out to cap her shoulders. Though she did not have it on tonight, he knew the jewels matched those that blazed in the stars of crown. Her hair was twisted up, held in place by golden pins, a few silken strands hanging down around her face.

As the silence grew, and as others around them watched with eyes greedy for drama, Dorian swallowed, hoping he could remember words, any words, to get him through this moment.

But it was Eveline who spoke first. “Your Majesty, thank you for making the long journey to celebrate with us.” She curtsied to Manon, then smiled in greeting to Glennis and the witches standing behind their queen. “When I was in the stable yard earlier, I checked in on your wyverns to make sure they were comfortable. I confess I’d never seen one so close before. They are truly amazing.”

Manon dipped her head. “It is my great honor, Lady. And yes, our mounts have been well attended. I hope they were on their best behavior.”

“Oh yes,” Eveline said. “The smaller one seemed very gentle. One of the yard hands told me he loves flowers.” She gestured to the large bouquets decorating the hall. “I requested some be sent down to him.”

Almost imperceptibly, Manon’s eyes flared at the mention of Abraxos’s gentleness. As if his approval of Eveline meant something beyond his usual love of a pretty face and kind nature.

Eveline hesitated, looking between Dorian and Manon. “I hope that was acceptable. I didn’t mean to overstep.”

Manon smiled reassuringly and said, “No, you did not, Lady. I appreciate your attentiveness, and I’m sure Abraxos did too.” Turning to fully face Dorian, her eyes glittered in the light of the chandeliers. He searched her face, awestruck as always by her beauty, but now hoping to see some acknowledgment that this was as torturous for her as it was for him. With a steady voice, she said, “Congratulations, Your Majesty.”

I’m princeling to you, he wanted to say. Maybe that would break through the ice-cold mask Manon had donned. But instead, all he could manage was a pathetic, “Thank you.”

Manon waited for a moment, as if he might have more to say. But when nothing came, his mind reeling with everything he couldn’t speak aloud, she made her way towards an anxiously waiting Yrene. The healer ignored protocol and pulled Manon into a hug. Dorian watched them speak quietly together, until a strong hand squeezed his, drawing his attention away. He looked down to see Glennis smiling sadly. She’d become as much a grandmother to him as she was to Manon, and he realized suddenly that she would soon be taken out of his life too.

“I’m sorry,” he croaked. “I don’t …” But he couldn’t finish. And Glennis wouldn’t let him anyway.

She bowed, offering Eveline a kind smile as she said, “My congratulations, Lady.”

Eveline, gracious as ever, dipped her head in return and thanked Glennis for her well wishes.

And just like that, the witches were gone and there was some merchant family standing in front of him. Dorian’s senses were overloaded, and he simply ignored the next influx of guests, selfishly relying on Eveline to chat with them. He should have turned away, should have focused on his duties, but his eyes followed Manon towards the ballroom. Before she could enter, Fennick presented himself to her with another dignified bow, then extended his arm. Dorian couldn’t hear what they said as she accepted and he escorted Manon into the room. In fact, he could hear nothing at all.

Chaol appeared in front of him, mouthing something to Eveline, then pulled Dorian back down a hallway to a deserted storage closet. Dorian’s knees nearly buckled, and he fell against the wall. Covering his mouth and trusting the noise down the hall to drown it out, he let loose the scream he’d been holding in for months. Magic exploded through the room, leaving the walls and floor coated with a thick sheet of ice. The temperature dropped so low that Chaol’s lips and eyelashes frosted over. But his friend said nothing, just let him yell, let his magic overtake them until there was nothing left. 

*****

Manon barely registered what was happening as she let the fae prince lead her into the ballroom. She knew he was speaking to her, but she only picked up pieces here and there, relegating the words to nonsense. Numbly, she turned back, searching for Dorian, but he was gone.

Her mind was caught on a moment ago when she’d been standing before him, drowning in the familiarity of his scent, his eyes, all of him. She was used to seeing him in formal clothing, but tonight, Dorian had outdone himself. In Adarlan red and embroidered with shimmering gold and silver wyverns, his jacket fit snugly across his broad shoulders, the back hem extending to his knees. It flattered his figure in such a way that he seemed taller, even more commanding than usual. His ebony hair had grown, curling at his ears and around his crown, a reminder of how long it had been since she’d seen him.

In a sparkling golden gown that complemented her dark hair and eyes, Eveline was lovely. As Manon had expected. What surprised her was the gratitude she felt for Eveline’s quick ability to relieve some of the tension. The truth was, if not for her, Manon and Dorian might still be standing there, entranced and speechless and desperate for each other’s presence.

“Your Majesty?” The fae was holding a chair out for her.

Manon spun around, shocked to find herself on the opposite side of the ballroom. She had no memory of getting here. Adarlan’s nobles and upper class shuffled around them, making a show of looking for their seats. But they were all watching her, some more brazenly than others. She stared back, forcing them to look away or bow their heads. With a tight smile, she thanked Fennick and sat down, her sentinels taking their positions along the wall behind her. He held out a chair for Glennis, who grumbled a thank you, then took the seat on Manon’s other side. Two couples claimed the remaining spots at their table and she could tell by their attire that they were foreign dignitaries. The older of the men introduced himself as the ambassador from Melisande and began speaking to Glennis, who looked both annoyed at the distraction and overjoyed at not having to converse with Fennick.

“I apologize,” Fennick said quietly. “This must be very difficult for you, Your Majesty.”

Manon blinked as she tried to imagine him calling her witchling. Never, came the shouted reply in her head. No one would ever call her that again. Yet another connection to a happier time that had been severed.

“I’ve lived through worse,” she said without thinking. It was true. And yet, also a lie. Losing her coven had been worse. But this was its own special misery. To lose Dorian now, after she’d begun to heal, after she’d chosen to live … this new wound cut long and deep, reopening all the old hurts from which she’d just started to recover.

Fennick was watching her carefully, no doubt unsure of how to respond. But he surprised her by saying, “Yes. They are legends in the fae lands. If not for the bravery of your witches, the world would have been destroyed. Sellene and Endymion speak highly of them. Truly, I am sorry for your loss.”

Manon attempted a smile, hoping that would be the end of it. People often didn’t know what to say when the topic of the Thirteen was broached. That Fennick said anything, let alone kind words, was a comfort. Yet she had no desire to discuss it further and add salt to her wounds.

In a cruel bit of luck, they were distracted by Dorian and Eveline entering the room. They made their way to a dais at the front of the crowd as everyone applauded. Pretending to clap, Manon tried in vain to focus on Chaol and Yrene, who’d already taken their seats at the head table. She felt Dorian’s eyes on her and for a brief instance, their gazes met. His smile was fake, she knew. But the recognition in his stare made her feel seen, known in a way that so few did.

When he saw who was next to her, his look turned almost feral. But then Eveline leaned close to say something to him and he turned away. The smile he gave his future queen appeared more genuine, enough so that its sincerity gave Manon pause. Quickly losing interest in the spectacle, she turned back to Fennick.

“You can’t have come all this way just to meet with me,” she said, holding her wine glass for a server to fill. She almost asked the man to leave the entire decanter at the table. She wasn’t one for drink, but tonight might be a perfect time to start.

“I can assure you, I did.”

“And why is that exactly?”

He laughed and leaned back in his chair. It was only then that she saw he’d actually matched his outfit to hers. She glanced back to Giselle and Lara. The witches had the good sense to look ashamed, but Manon wouldn’t punish them. Instead of anger, she was biting back a laugh. It was a decent attempt, but if Fennick thought she would be impressed by such things, he was an idiot. While she could appreciate the way Dorian dressed, it wasn’t a thing she noticed on anyone else.

“In my letter I mentioned having gone through a similar experience,” he said, gesturing to the dais with his glass before taking a sip. “I once loved a human. But it ended badly.” He didn’t volunteer more information, and though Manon was curious, she didn’t ask for more. “When Sellene got the invitation and seemed shocked by who the king had chosen to wed, I saw a possible kindred spirit in you. The more she told me about you, the more intrigued I became. Though, her description of your beauty was lacking to say the least.” With a flirtatious half smile, he added, “The fae are known for their otherworldly beauty, but I can officially say that witches,” he nodded to her, “have far surpassed my kind.”

Manon had to turn away to hide her laugh. People flirted with her all the time. But after so long with Dorian, she’d grown used to his playfulness and subtlety.

Mistaking it as shyness, Fennick went on. “You don’t believe me? Look around this room. They are here for a king’s wedding, yet all their eyes follow us.”

She considered telling him it had everything to do with the humans’ love of gossip and nothing to do with their looks, but he knew that. This was just a game, one she didn’t feel like playing no matter how entertaining it might be.

The ambassador’s assistant asked Fennick a question, thankfully taking his attention off her. Ignoring the conversation, she gazed up at the dais. Chaol and Yrene were seated to Dorian’s left and a sour looking man had appeared to Eveline’s right. She narrowed her eyes on Lord Frey. The way he held himself, looking down his nose and sneering at the guests, reminded her of the Blackbeak Matron. It made sense. They both possessed a cruel desire for power that left others at risk.

As if a light had been shone on it, she noticed that Eveline kept herself as far from her father as possible. Or was she just trying to get closer to Dorian? Manon didn’t think it was wishful thinking. The girl clearly hated her father, and justifiably so. For the first time, Manon considered that Eveline may not want this union either. She’d never blamed the girl outright, but she’d never spared any sympathy either. But even sympathy couldn’t quell her desire to be in Eveline’s place. Maybe not in front of this crowd. But by Dorian’s side? At this moment, Manon wanted nothing more. As she sank into the feeling, her favorite blue eyes found her.

A charge passed between them and it felt like the entire room had been emptied. A crazy urge almost took her, to get up and take his hand and just walk out. Leave everyone and everything behind. Others could rule their kingdoms. Clean up the mess they’d leave behind. Manon blinked and the noise and people surged back. Dorian was perched on the edge of his chair, as if he’d had the same vision of escape. But with the return to reality, that vision faded into darkness. Where she knew it belonged.

Fennick said something to her and she twisted in her chair. He was speaking animatedly to the ambassador, his assistant, and their wives, trying to pull Manon into the conversation. “We were just talking about wedding gifts. It’s difficult enough trying to get something for people who aren’t royalty. Whatever do you give a king and his queen?” he asked.

Manon held back a flinch at that description of Dorian and Eveline and glanced at the others. The women seemed to be too polite to point out the rudeness of Fennick’s topic.

Glennis wasn’t. “I would think it’s not proper to discuss such things,” she said, earning a nod of agreement from the ambassador’s wife.

Fennick laughed airily, failing to see Glennis’s nasty look. “It’s just in good fun. Doranelle is well known for our gold and metalcraft, so Sellene commissioned a music box that is embossed with the Havilliard crest. She thought it appropriate to send a gift representative of our wealth.” His face reddened, as though his queen’s arrogance was embarrassing.

The ambassador cleared his throat, ignoring his wife’s glare. “Melisande is well known for our textiles, so we gifted them an assortment of our finest silks.” As if wanting to be saved from his wife, he looked to Manon, his eyebrows raised expectantly.

She wasn’t going to reply at first. No amount of pleading from the ambassador could draw her into this. But then, despite the crone’s earlier disapproval, she saw the curiosity on Glennis’s face and found herself saying, “I’ve given them a book.”

With a contemptuous smirk, the assistant piped up and asked, “A book? Does it hold some sort of secret witch knowledge to make it suitable for a king?”

If she wasn’t still reeling from the moment she’d just shared with Dorian, Manon might have told him to go to hell. But this whole night had left her out of sorts. And besides, she would not be the cause of a scene. Glaring at the man, she said, “It’s called a memory book, the pages left blank for commemorating special events. Weddings. Births.” She waved her hand, dismissing the topic as much as the nausea that suddenly struck her.

While the men looked confused, as if an empty book were the worst gift in the world, the women smiled, agreeing it was a lovely idea. She found Fennick looking at her, his head tilted slightly, as if trying to decide between the two possibilities. Finally, he gave her a soft smile and said, “I’d not thought you the romantic type, Your Majesty. That is indeed a beautiful gift.”

Manon thanked him with a nod, sitting quietly as the others continued talking and studiously avoiding Glennis’s eyes on her. She’d had no idea what Manon had brought to give Dorian and Eveline. What would she think if Manon told her she’d left the name plate blank? She had not been able to bring herself to write Eveline’s name next to Dorian’s. A cowardly deed. Just as it had been a cowardly urge earlier to run from this night.

By the time dinner ended and the music was starting, she was silent and numb, burying herself in dark thoughts and wishing she had never come. Glennis had done her part in keeping the conversation at the table going, but once the last course was cleared, she excused herself to go speak to Yrene. When Fennick stood and offered his hand to dance, Manon just stared. He sat again, his smile fading and a concerned look in his eye. He’d tried to improve her mood during dinner but to no avail.

“Go dance, Fennick. I’m fine.”

“You’re the only one I want to dance with, Your Majesty.”

She sighed, but her mouth twitched upwards. “Just call me Manon.” She had no energy for maintaining airs.

As they sat and watched the dance floor fill, he said, “I was ready to give up my immortality for the woman I loved.” Manon turned towards him, her foul mood momentarily replaced by curiosity. “During Maeve’s reign I spent as much time as I could outside of Doranelle. I met her in Wendlyn. She was a seamstress, beautiful and kind.” He glanced at Manon, frowning. “I think I fell in love with her the instant our eyes met. There was this inexplicable connection. Fae can mate with humans, but it’s very rare. I thought that if I waited, the bond would snap into place and she would be my mate.”

Manon turned her attention back to the dancing. She hid her trembling hands under the table, remembering she had once thought the same thing about Dorian. Witches had mates, but not in the fae sense. The connection was not magical, it wasn’t something feral and uncontrollable. A witch chose her mate, their bond forged on love and respect. Nothing more. But, there was something more with Dorian. A tug towards him she’d felt when they’d met, a pull that she could never truly explain. Once, she’d almost asked Glennis if having two witch parents gave her more fae blood than most witches. But she’d talked herself out of it, eased by the thought that she and Dorian had time. And the knowledge that ultimately, it made no difference. She loved him either way.

Fennick laughed, a soft, humorless sound. “You can guess that she was not, in fact, my mate. When I spoke of giving up my immortality to be with her, she tried to talk me out of it.” Another laugh. “That raised my suspicions and I discovered she was in love with another man. A human.”

“You laugh about it,” Manon said. “How long ago was it?”

“Almost two hundred years ago. And yes, I laugh, but the pain of it still surprises me sometimes.”

She could understand that. In comparison, practically no time had passed for her, but she couldn’t imagine a future free of the pain of losing her coven. Despite his arrogance and formality, she could admit they did share some things in common.

They sat in silence again, watching the dancing. Her head was full of voices urging her to accept things, move on. Live. With a glance to the dais, where Dorian was staring at Eveline, Manon said, “I’m not a dancer. But perhaps this evening doesn’t need to have a miserable end.”

Fennick smiled, stood, and offered her his hand again.

She took it, and despite the voices she’d listened to, Manon felt like a traitor as he led her to the dance floor.

***

It had taken longer for Dorian to make himself presentable after his little explosion in the closet than it did to release his rage. Luckily, he had enough magic left to heal the burst blood vessels in his eyes. And warm Chaol, whose fingertips had taken on a purplish sheen from the cold. Neither Eveline nor Yrene said anything when they returned, and by that point, it was time for dinner.

Godsdamn this entire farce, Dorian silently yelled, plastering a grin on his face as they made their way to the dais and took their seats. He tried not to be obvious in his search for Manon, but he knew it was useless. When he saw her, his wild mind quieted, his breathing evened out. She always had that effect on him. Even in the midst of lovemaking, when it made no sense for her to do so, she somehow calmed him.

His eyes caught the site of Fennick sitting beside her and the calmness disappeared in a flash. Of course the bastard was there. Dorian had no right to be angry or jealous. He knew it. But that meant nothing when he saw the fae’s proximity to Manon. What little magic remained in his veins growled and he fought to stifle it.

Eveline leaned towards him then and said, “We could claim he was never invited and have him thrown out.”

As the dream of tossing Fennick on his ass played out in his head, Dorian couldn’t help but smile. “If you have yet to get a wedding gift for me, that would be perfect.”

Laughing, she replied, “Sadly, I already got you a gift. That is, if it arrives on time. But it’s one I think you will actually enjoy more.”

Desperate to keep his mind and eyes off Manon, he said lightly, “More than pummeling Fennick Whitethorn? I can’t imagine what it must be.”

Lord Frey sauntered over and took his seat on Eveline’s other side, effectively killing their conversation. Eveline stiffened, inching closer to Dorian. They both ignored the lord and the slight at taking his seat after the king. Chaol glared at the man and Yrene leaned forward to silently examine Dorian. He winked at her, and though she didn’t believe his playfulness, she was satisfied that he was not hurt by his magical outburst.

Eveline asked her about Josie, who was under the care of Chaol’s mother. As the two women talked, Dorian couldn’t help himself and watched Manon. She sat with her back to him, so he couldn’t see her reactions to Fennick’s ridiculous attempts at flirting. The male looked to be laying it on thick. He hoped that Manon might get offended and slap him. But instead she ducked her head away and smiled. His head told him it was fake, or an attempt to keep from laughing at the male. But his gut churned and soon, the possibility that she was enjoying it overtook any common sense he had left.

Forcing himself to look away, he couldn’t chase the thoughts from his mind. Did this fool actually think Manon could be his mate? And just like that, the notion dug itself into his brain, taking hold and refusing to let go.

“Tell me what you’re thinking right now,” Chaol demanded.

Dorian turned, eyes still narrowed, jaw clenched. He sat his wine glass down before he shattered it.

“Oh, never mind. It’s written all over your face.”

“And if that were someone flirting with Yrene? You’d just pretend it wasn’t happening?”

Chaol sighed. “No. I’d punch him in the face.”

“Thank you!” Dorian said, feeling momentarily victorious.

“Hell, I’d gladly punch Fennick on your behalf. But Manon would be livid if I robbed her of the chance,” Chaol said.

Dorian thought the sight of Manon beating the fae to a pulp was much better than his earlier vision of doing it himself. Unfortunately, his hopes looked to be dashed. “That is not livid,” he said glumly, gesturing to where she sat talking to Fennick. Nodding his thanks to the server who filled his plate, he stared at the food, not bothering to reach for a utensil. His appetite had been absent for weeks and there was no chance it would return tonight.

He looked up to find golden eyes upon him. Dorian stopped breathing, and suddenly time and space felt infinite. Or, was that her eyes? Something flickered between them and he inched forward, as if he might jump up and flee with her. Escape this nonsense and the suffocation of their crowns. As quickly as the moment had taken him, it faded, leaving him about to push himself off his chair, ready to bolt.

Clearing his throat, he settled back into his seat, his gaze back on the food before him.

“If I may, Your Majesty,” Eveline said, dipping her spoon into her stew, “it might help to act as if you’re in a play.”

He gave her an apologetic look for what she had just witnessed. “A play? Is that how you survive court?”

“It is. Sometimes I pretend that I am part of some grand production, acting out a role.” She was smiling as she spoke, but Dorian couldn’t help but feel saddened by her confession. She must have noticed so she said, “It’s quite fun. Especially when I can play into people’s preconceived notions about me. Lady Thorn thinks me an idiot. But when I feign ignorance, she is the one who must always explain her snobbish jokes and insults until they are no longer funny. She is the one left looking a fool.”

Dorian laughed, clinked her glass with his and said, “Well done. I wish I could have witnessed that.”

Eveline eyed him, “That was well done too.”

“I wasn’t acting just now. I would truly love to see Lady Thorn taken down a peg or two. The woman is abominable.”

She laughed and they continued talking, sharing opinions about the worst of the nobility, excluding Lord Frey only because he was within hearing distance. Although Dorian barely ate, the courses passed by quickly. When the quartet that had played during dinner became a larger ensemble and started playing dance music, members of the crowd looked to Dorian and Eveline. But she begged off the attempt to have them open the dance floor, and Dorian waved for the guests to begin without them. He didn’t mind. Manon had never danced before, and he would rather sit out this part of the night too.

Lord Frey, having been ignored the entire night, stood and threw his napkin on the table. Before he made his exit, he bent between his daughter and Dorian and growled, “Do not think I am blind. If you dishonor my daughter any further by staring so lewdly at the witch, I may be inclined to take back my offer of peace.”

Without looking at Lord Frey, and with a surprisingly hostile note to her voice, Eveline said, “If you renege on this agreement, father, you might very well lose the support you barely manage to cling to.”

Dorian looked back and forth between them, annoyed when Lord Frey took his leave before he could put the noble in his place. To Eveline, he asked, “Are there weaknesses in his alliance that I should know about?”

She only smiled, looking blankly out over the ballroom. “I don’t know. I just wanted him to leave.”

He watched her for a moment, unsure what to think. He’d been somewhat charmed by her earlier stories of play acting at the expense of the other members of court. Was she doing that now? Or did her father have that much of an effect on her? He truly didn’t know.

A low, collective gasp drew him from his thoughts, and he looked out over the ballroom.

Once, when he was young, he’d fallen, running up a flight of stairs in the castle. He’d landed hard, striking his chest against the edge of the next step up. The blow left him gasping for air for what felt like hours, the shock and pain of it lingering even after he could breathe again.

That’s what he felt now. But he hadn’t fallen. It was the sight of Manon being led onto the dance floor by Fennick that knocked the breath from his lungs. He searched desperately for Chaol or Yrene, but they had disappeared. Eveline was watching him with concern, murmuring in shock at the sight of her own breath in the air. He was paralyzed, watching this nightmare unfold and unable to stop it. And finally, Chaol was there, blocking his view of the dance floor.

“Do you need to leave?” his friend asked, glancing at Eveline, who seemed to be in favor of the idea.

“No,” Dorian said, blinking rapidly to clear his eyes and try to make sense of what was happening. “No. I will stay.”

After a long moment, Chaol reluctantly walked away, coming around the table to take his seat in case he needed to get Dorian out of there.

But somehow, Dorian remained calm, his face a perfect mask with a winning smile and bright eyes as he and Eveline oversaw the rest of the evening. The only sign of his inner turmoil was the arm rest of his chair, which had been reduced to a pile of splinters on the floor.

He focused on anyone and anything but her, too terrified of what he might see if she came into view. Terrified to see her laughing, learning to dance in another’s arms. But it didn’t really matter. That first sight of her, held close by that smirking son of a bitch as he helped her with the foot movements … it was seared into his brain. When he closed his eyes, it was there, his imagination threatening to go wild.

He felt a light touch on his hand. Eveline said, “She has left. It’s safe now.”

Dorian stared at her, unable to speak, to even say thank you. And she deserved to be thanked for putting up with him this night. Again, he wondered who she really was. Certainly not a fool. But he’d been one to think she was simple and docile. It didn’t make him feel better. Only worse for dragging her into this mess.

“I believe I’ll retire now,” he said flatly.

“Yes, of course,” Eveline said, standing as he pulled her chair out. “It’s been a long evening. And we have a big day tomorrow.” It was spoken with her usual lovely smile, and loud enough for some guests mingling nearby to hear. They bowed to Dorian and Eveline as they stepped off the dais and made their way out of the ballroom.

They walked to her rooms in silence, Dorian remembering all those times he’d asked Manon to dance, and Eveline likely thinking of what was to come the next day. He said goodnight and turned away before she closed her door. As he began the long climb up the stairs of his tower, his feet felt heavy, shackled with regret. When he reached the floor where Manon was staying, he stopped. The guards behind him stepped back, giving him leave to walk down this hallway instead of his own. But her sentinels were nowhere in sight, leaving Dorian to imagine where she might be. With a head full of useless wishing and his chest somehow both empty and aching, he continued to trudge up the steps to his rooms.

*****

With Glennis having already retired to her room next door, Manon bid her sentinels goodnight, leaving them outside in the hall. Fennick had insisted on walking her to her rooms, choosing a circuitous route that ensured they’d have more time together. He’d spoken of everything from stories of his travels to gossip about his extended family. She’d reacted when necessary, secretly reliving the way Dorian had looked when she’d stepped onto the dance floor.

Dorian had asked her to dance with him at the official events she attended in Rifthold. But she’d not had the training he did. And to expose herself like that in front of so many people had been too frightening. After that, Dorian never pushed, and he offered to teach her in private. But the promise of lessons had gone unfulfilled. They always seemed to find other uses for their precious time alone.

She couldn’t explain what happened tonight. Perhaps it was pity for Fennick. Or a desire to stop wallowing in her own. The instant she started walking to the dance floor, before seeing Dorian’s reaction that felt like a punch to her gut, she knew it was a mistake. But it would have drawn more eyes if she’d returned to the table. So instead, she let Fennick take her in his arms and spin her around a bit. He laughed when she stepped on his feet and tried to keep her up there for another round. On the verge of letting her iron teeth snick free, Manon had glared at him until he knew not to press her any further.

And now, after a round-about journey to her rooms, she was finally alone.

She tugged the pins from her hair and tossed them on a table. Unclasping the golden collar of her dress, she shrugged out of it and threw on a long, wool shirt. Despite the roaring fire, the room felt cold. And despite her fatigue, Manon knew she wouldn’t sleep. After staring out the doors to the balcony for a while, she caught the shine of moonlight on dark feathers. It took only a small flick of her hand to unlatch the handle. Before she could reconsider, she walked away, leaving what might happen next to fate.

Minutes later, from the other side of the room, she heard the door softly close. Her heart suddenly racing, she turned to find Dorian. He too had changed out of his formal clothes, and without the jacket, she could see he’d lost weight. They stared, taking all the time to drink each other in that they weren’t granted earlier. For as fast as her heart was beating, she heard his pounding faster. It made her love being a witch, this ability to sense the way his body reacted to her. There was never fear from him, never a look in his eyes that marked her as a monster.

She took a step towards him right as he said, “You danced with him.”

Manon flinched, the last word hitting her like a slap to the face.

Dorian’s face crumpled and he turned away, scrubbing his hands through his hair. “I just …” His voice caught, turning into a rough whisper. “I always thought I’d be the one to teach you how to dance.”

“You don’t get to be upset,” Manon said, trying to swallow her anger.

Spinning around, he yelled, all pretense of calm gone. “I don’t?! I don’t get to be angry that the one thing in my life I freely chose has been taken from me? The one thing I vowed to never do has been forced upon me?”

Manon tensed, expecting her guards to rush in at any moment. When they didn’t come, she realized he’d shielded them with his magic. Free to yell, she did it too. “You chose to take responsibility for your throne. No one forced you to do that. You could have walked away, abdicated and left this country for someone else to rule.” It was utterly ridiculous, and she didn’t mean a word of it, but it let her vent, let her throw something back in his face.

“What happened to ‘you’ve never given up on your people and you won’t now’? Or was that just another excuse to leave? Like my mortality or our kingdoms’ need for heirs? You didn’t even fight for us! You just told me to marry her and left. And now you’re dancing with someone else!”

She snarled, unwilling to hold back. “And you’re marrying someone else! What did you do to stop this? You act as if you exhausted every alternative, but you didn’t. The wedding invitations were practically written up and sent out the day after I left.”

“Because I didn’t want my friends to witness this circus!” He pointed to the cold night outside the doors. “That’s why I rushed it. To have it in winter so no one could come!”

Manon blinked, then covered her face with her hands and started to laugh. And then, Dorian was laughing. The release of screaming at each other felt good. Even if the words held some pieces of truth, they knew each other well enough to know how tiny and insignificant those pieces were. They knew that in this situation, faced with war or an unhappy future apart, there was no choice for either of them. As their laughter died down, they were left standing and staring at each other again.

Dorian took a step towards her, his face open to her as it had never been. “The moment I truly understood what my life would become, that it wouldn’t be my life at all, I was six years old. I didn’t cry or complain. I accepted it. Accepted the tutors and the training and the beatings. When I was fourteen and my mother began parading girls in front of me, persuading me to select one as a wife … I wasn’t strong enough then to stand up to my father, but I could resist her. I made a promise to myself that I would only marry for love. Nothing would keep me from it. Not my mother’s manipulations or my father’s cruelty. Not the weight of my crown. And even when I fell in love, even when my crown and his cruelty took those loves away, I held on to that vow, knowing that whatever else I gave up for Adarlan, I might at least be with someone I loved. A queen who loved me, who would erase every nightmare, help me battle every hardship. A queen who would stand beside me. That queen is you. It’s only ever been you.”

That was where Manon wished to be. Beside him, offering her strength and taking his when she needed it. Trusting him as she’d trusted no other. Saving him and letting him save her. Just as they’d always done. Dorian was everything she wanted and needed in a friend and lover.

“Seeing you with him tonight, I couldn’t stand it. I know I have no right to feel that way. You don’t belong to me. But I belong to you. No matter what happens tomorrow, I am yours, and always will be.”

Manon closed her eyes, not knowing what to say and trying to keep the tears at bay. He was right. About all of it. She’d let herself fall into that same trap these past two years. That instead of being forced to have an heir with some random ally, she might have a choice in the matter. And her choice had already been made. From that moment she’d dragged Asterin along to Rifthold, hellbent on warning his friends that Dorian had not succumbed to the valg within him.

Yes, he was right. But what did it change?

***

“It was hard for me to see you with her,” she said, her eyes boring into him, as if searching for a sign that he wasn’t as miserable as he claimed. “Laughing and talking together.”

When she started to walk away, Dorian reached for her arm, turning her to face him. Instinctively, she pushed back, taking a fistful of his shirt to hold him in place. But he kept walking, slowly forcing her backwards, closing the distance between them until she was stopped by the wall behind her. Dorian boxed her in, his hands flat on the wall, barely an inch from her shoulders, their faces almost as close. He did not touch her, knowing that if he did, all his meager control would be lost, and he’d fall to his knees and beg. Her chest rose and fell with each jagged breath, their eyes locked like magnets.

“I hated the way you looked at her,” Manon rasped. “I hated dancing with him.”

Dorian’s fingers twitched and suddenly, he had a handful of her hair. Manon’s gaze dipped to his lips and with that single look, that soft tug of hair, the wall they’d tried to hold up between them collapsed. Still grasping his shirt, she pulled him to her. When their lips touched, they both sighed, as if arriving home after a long journey.

The kiss was like a fire ignited within them. One of his hands dropped and grabbed her hip, pulling her to him. His other hand shifted and wrapped around her neck, his thumb running along her jaw. Manon groaned and took his bottom lip between her teeth. Hitching a leg up around his hip, she drew him closer. All Dorian’s senses flashed on and the only thing he was aware of was her.

Everything, he had missed everything about her. The way her hair felt like the purest silk, the way her gold eyes darkened with desire, the sounds she made when he took her in his arms. And though he was losing himself in this kiss, he knew that more than any of those things, he’d missed simply being near her, talking to her, confessing his deepest thoughts to her. Manon was the only one he could do those things with.

“I missed you witchling. So much,” he whispered roughly against her mouth. “I love you.”

He felt the ghost of a smile as she said, “I love you too, princeling.”

His whole body shuddered at the sound of that word from her lips. Hearing it, holding her, everything about this moment reinforced that feeling of calm and rightness. Of home.

They’d never said it before, substituting that word with others, or with actions. Manon had changed so much since he’d first met her, learning to open herself to new feelings and experiences without losing any of her hard edges and steel. But he’d always assumed she was afraid to say it, to give all of herself in that way. So he’d been patient, keeping the word bottled up until the right moment. That overdependence on time had kept them from declaring their love for one another. Until now.

A tear had escaped her eye and he brushed it away with his finger. Desperate for more, for all of her, he leaned down to kiss her again, but she covered his mouth with a trembling hand.

“You can’t be here,” Manon said. “I love you but …” She pushed him back this time and walked quickly away. “You are right. And I want nothing more than to be the one to fulfill that vow you once made. But you’ve sworn an oath to your people, and tomorrow, you will uphold it.”

Devastated to have their perfect moment shattered by the harshness of reality, Dorian didn’t follow her. She was only a few feet away and it felt like an ocean, the distance filled with an empty cold that left him numb to the bone.

Tomorrow he would keep his oath to Adarlan, forsaking his vow to himself.

The sight of her in the arms of another had tested him in ways he’d never imagined. What then, if one day she married the fae prince? Had a witchling with him? The thoughts cleaved his heart anew, and again, he was surprised to find anything left to break. This brief reprieve with her had restored it, only for it to fall apart. Dorian wondered when that damaged part of him would finally give way and disappear altogether. What shell would be left in its place? What kind of king would he be without a heart with which to love?

For all the evil he’d committed, even his father had felt love enough to bestow his own name upon his son, to hide Dorian’s magic from Erawan for as long as he could. A familiar doubt crept out of the shadows and into his head, crowing about how much weaker he was than his father. He knew he was acting like a fool, as overly dramatic as any fairy tale he’d grown up reading. But logic held no power against the depthless dark overtaking him.

Manon still had her back to him. Her shaky breaths were barely audible, but he felt her misery as sharply as he felt his own. Fighting every urge to go to her, comfort her, and in turn comfort himself, Dorian walked past her to the balcony door. He paused for one moment, watching her reflection in the glass. But when she didn’t look up, he unlatched the door and walked outside.

A second later, Dorian was a raven, flying into the frigid night. He didn’t go back to his rooms yet, choosing instead to soar higher for a while. The bite of the air at this altitude didn’t penetrate his thick feathers, so he let himself go up and up and up, leaving the world and thoughts of tomorrow behind.

To be continued...

***

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